Crisis of Leadership
by Prism01
Summary: The disaster through the President's eyes.
1. Alpha

Crisis of Leadership By Eli Lipton  
  
President James Isaac lay in bed, awake. It was a bad habit that lingered from adolescence, where he would wake up early and be unable to fall back asleep, due to the string of thoughts always running through his head.. _Why not get up and get some work done, Mr. President? After all, isn't that what the people elected you to do?_ He was fast approaching the crucial point of one hundred days of Presidency. All that he had done was sign a health care reform bill and sign a trade embargo deal with France due to their habit of giving weapons-grade plutonium to Iran. It was 7:30 in the morning- He was supposed to wake up at 8. He thought back of his days as some obscure Republican Senator from New York. After a cutthroat half year of debating and a nicotine filled Election Day, Isaac was the first Jewish President of the United States.  
  
Finally the alarm rang. He turned to face his wife, Carolyn. "Good morning hon-"All he saw was a blank spot where his wife was supposed to be laying. Oh yeah. She was in South America, stressing the importance of literacy. A sigh escaped his lips as he pulled on a pair of slacks. A short while later, he found himself in front of his senior White House aide for his morning briefing, Alex Casey. A little man of 5'2, he made up for his inept height by blazing through the political food chain like a hungry shark finding food after three days. Should Casey turn liberal and run against him in the next elections, he would face quite a challenge.  
  
"The main concern of today, Mr. President, is a strange new virus in Los Angeles and New York..."  
  
Isaac frowned. "There's always a new virus anywhere you go. What's so special about this one? Some new strain of the flu?"  
  
A flash of confusion and fear ran through Casey's eyes.  
  
"No, it's not that, either."  
  
The door to the Rose Garden opened and in came Minnie Longhorn, White House press secretary. "You're do at the South Lawn in 5 minutes."  
  
Isaac studied Casey with a stony gaze, and then made a crisp 180 degree turn and followed Minnie out towards the South Lawn. The sky was overcast. It reminded Isaac of the day he told his parents that he had been selected to go to Vietnam. _Keep your head down._ That's all his father had said. Well, the advice had worked well. One fateful afternoon in late February 1968, Isaac's battalion of Marines had arrived in the northern city of Hue. Isaac and another man, Charlie were coupled with the task of eliminating any possible sniper locations. So they crept along the many walls of concrete until Isaac spotted an open window in an apartment building. Isaac kept a lookout with his M-16, and Charlie Looked inside the window with a pair of binoculars. Charlie was shot and killed instantly. What if I had to look inside that window?  
  
"Isaac! Where's your mind at?" Minnie's loud voice shook him back to reality.  
  
"Nothing, just thinking about something."  
  
"Well, in that case, start thinkin' about the speech about the education budget, Mister President."  
  
"Oh yeah, Minnie, can you also try to get ahold of Carolyn for me?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The South Lawn was awash with reporters and television equipment. Secret Service agents stood at attention, and on top of the White House lay two men, one with a high-powered sniper rifle and the other with a pair of binoculars. Isaac waved to the cameras as he stepped onto the podium. He looked down at the paper before his eyes and almost rolled his eyes when he saw the first words. "Good morning, America! How's breakfast?" Note to self. When no one's looking, give speechwriter swift boot to ass. "I know you are concerned about next Monday's vote to boost the public school budget, but I assure you, whether or not the bill passes, we WILL find a way to give America's children a good future. Have a good day, and God bless."  
  
As Isaac stepped off the podium, Isaac noticed Alex Casey running towards him. _"Mrpresidentyoureneededintheovalofficerightaway!",_ Alex spoke in rapid- fire, and his eyes shifted back and forth. "Alex, what is this about?" "No time to explain. Come on!" Isaac noticed the reporters had left in a hurry. He rolled his eyes and followed Casey to the Oval Office. He found himself surrounded by his Secretary of Defense and various generals. Isaac pointed at the Defense Secretary. "What the hell is going on? Jacob, shouldn't you be in Florida?" Isaac then looked at the generals. "I've never seen you guys before." "We're around." one said. Alex turned on the TV. The reporter was standing on some roof in Downtown Los Angeles.  
  
_"Pandemonium reigns in America's second largest city, as citizens find themselves being attacked by...things. Rod, get that!_ "The camera shifted to the streets below, as a mob of people, some with knives sticking in their hearts and limbs missing converged on a group of civilians with weapons ranging from assault rifles to kitchen knives. The cameraman zoomed onto a woman who was burned beyond recognition and a chunk of meat missing from her face, and yet she was walking. The camera panned out just in time to catch the mob collapse onto the would-be defenders of Downtown. The camera returned to the pale-faced reporter, who looked just about as confused as the President. _"The LAPD urges all citizens to remain in your homes, do not open your door for anyone..."  
_  
Isaac sat down at his desk and cradled his head in his hands. "What the fuck is happening? I have to call my wife." Gunshots rang outside. Jacob, the Secretary of Defense glanced outside the window. "Damn it! Mr. President, we have to go." Isaac forced himself to look outside the window. About thirty zombies were climbing over each other to get inside the White House. Zombies. There is no other way to describe them. The Secret Service was putting up a tough fight. One agent in particular let loose a volley of lead at a member of the walking dead, but still it kept coming, even with half of it's lower body missing. Isaac turned away, not wishing to see what was going to happen next. Isaac sighed and looked up. "Let's go."  
  
Isaac didn't even find himself being aware of walking up the stairs to the helipad. He was only there in physical form-Inside he was thinking of his wife. On the way up he was engaged in conversation by Jacob Reynolds, the Secretary of Defense, Casey, and General Hood, a senior member of the Joint Chiefs.  
  
He responded to each question absentmindedly.  
  
_"James, it is absolutely crucial that we have some sort of a functional government for the duration of this crisis."_  
  
"Totally."  
  
_"We're heading for the bomb shelter in Virginia."  
_  
"Uh huh."  
  
_"We need authorization to dispatch the Special Forces for domestic use."  
_  
"You got it."  
  
"Godspeed, Mr. President", said a Secret Service agent, as he shot a zombie in the head, downing it.  
  
Was the same scene in Los Angeles, D.C., and New York being repeated the world over? He sat down in the Sea Stallion. Alex Casey, Jacob Reynolds, and General Hood sat in the adjoining seats next to him. As the helicopter lifted off, Isaac looked over to Casey and very hesitantly asked him a question. "Where's the Vice President?" Casey hung his head down. "Dead. He was in New York at the time." "Damn it. What the fuck is going on?" Jacob, Casey, and Hood all responded at the same time. "Your guess is as good as mine." Isaac laid his head back against his seat._ What am I gonna do? My countrymen have gone berserk, the chain of command is all fucked up, no one knows where anyone is, I don't know where my wife is...Is this a bad dream? _As his eyes closed for what seemed like ten minutes, a rapid TAPTAPTAP sound jolted him from his rest.  
  
Isaac took a quick look around and down. A Marine was laying back down in front of the Washington Monument, his finger still yanked in a death grip on the trigger of his M4, and the high velocity .223 rounds were colliding with the President's helicopter. The pilot slammed his hand down against the window. "DAMN IT!, WE'RE LOSING ALTITUDE!" Alex was saying something incoherent to Jacob, and General Hood was clutching his chest, unsure of whether what was going to strike first- a heart attack or death by falling from 600 feet. _Keep your head down._ Isaac's father's voice drilled in his head repeatedly. The ground was approaching fast, and Isaac placed both his arms over his cranium. _LET ME LIVE!_ The last thing Isaac remembered was the sound of crunching steel and shattering glass.  
  
The first thing he was aware of was the smell of smoke and the crackling of fire- There was a throbbing pain in his lower back and something was dripping on his eyes. "Mm...ah.." What the fuck happened...? Isaac opened his eyes. There, above him, was the corpse of the helicopter pilot. A deep gash was centered right above the man's nasal cavity, and it had been dripping blood on the President's face for god-knows-how long. Isaac glanced to his left. The door was blocked by rubble. Same way on the right. The only way out was up. He took ahold of a landing strut that protruded from the floor of the aircraft and pulled himself up and out the window. It was about twilight. It was early noon when the world ended, wasn't it? As the President stood up, he became subject to the pool of dead bodies all around him. "Oh my god.." He also became aware of the steady number of walking corpses that had arrived at his position. It sure as hell wasn't no welcome party.  
  
Don't think! Act! Isaac did the only thing a man without a weapon could do- Run! The corpses gave chase- They were somewhat fast, with arms outstretched and ready to give Isaac a hug. He noticed a discarded Canadian .45 handgun on the ground below him. Isaac scooped the gun up. He did a 180 and placed a single shot into the zombie's skull. He trained the gun on another zombie and pulled the trigger-No dice. DAMN IT! Isaac closed his eyes, ready for his fate, but then the report of numerous assault rifles forced him to open them. A troupe of mixed peoples, some wearing fatigues and others Fubu shirts met his gaze.  
  
"Mr. President! Thank god you're alive, come with us!"  
  
**So, what do you think? Should I continue writing this?**


	2. Explanations

Explanations  
  
"So, would anyone mind telling me what happened here?", Isaac quipped as he picked up an M4 off a dead Marine. A curse escaped his lips, as he realized the magazine was empty. "Anyone got a spare mag?" A tall black man who looked like he would be more at home with William Wallace's Highlander's than with a motley crew of survivors chucked a clip at the President, who caught it and slapped it inside the weapon. "We have no idea. I was just finishing my shift at the hospital when the head nurse down at the morgue said that the dead were walkin' and lo and behold, here comes a dozen walkin' dead marching up the stairs.", spoke a blonde woman, who looked a bit like Carolyn. Carolyn. Please be alright...wherever you are. A low cough interrupted the President's moment of brief peace, and he spun around and saw Casey, his arm at his side and limping towards Isaac. "Casey? What in the hell happened to you?"  
  
"Who's this guy?", uttered a Marine standing next to the black man. "My chief aide."  
  
Casey sat down, wincing as he did. "I know what's going on here. I don't have much time...might as well tell you everything.."  
  
"Go on, tell us everything." Isaac placed a hand on Casey's shoulder.  
  
Casey halted for a minute, trying to remember it all. "During the Cold War, a Soviet spy plane crashed near Alaska...Onboard there was a virus, called Solanum. We interrogated the pilot, everyone on board. They said that the Soviets wanted to make a frontline army...An army impervious to fatigue, an army devoid of fear...An army that didn't needed to be trained. We didn't find out HOW they found the virus, but we got the sample. Anyhow, we sent out the samples to be experimented on to our labs in L.A, Chicago, New York, and other places. Last night, the samples got loose in the sewers, somehow."  
  
The Marine stonily looked over at Casey. "How do we stop it?"  
  
"You don't. We can only wait them out."  
  
"How do we kill them?"  
  
"Headshots, white phosphorus, fire works wonders too."  
  
Casey groaned and collapsed sideways.  
  
Isaac rushed over to Casey and pulled him up. "Mr. President...you must get to the safehouse in the mountains. There must be a working government. We must not let this nation collapse into anarchy. No, we can't let that happen. Now go. I'm already feeling that same...hunger that these beasts are feeling." Casey took his arm off his side. There were about a dozen bite marks on his rib cage. "Please, finish me. I don't want to become one of them." Casey looked upwards at Isaac. People always said that the eyes were a gateway to the soul. Casey's eyes showed a man who was terrified. His piercing brown oculars stared into Isaac. "Do it. Please." The black man solemnly walked over to Isaac and placed a Beretta 92 in his hands. Isaac placed the muzzle of the 9mm against Casey's temple and whispered "God forgive me." He pulled the trigger.  
  
A short time later, the group of survivors and the President of the United States found themselves traveling in an armored car. The previous owners had been the Pennsylvania Avenue branch of Bank of America, but it was now under new ownership, The Presidential Cabinet of Zombie Killers. "I didn't catch you guy's names. You go first." Isaac pointed to the black man.  
  
"I'm Chris."  
  
"I'm Jenny." Said the blonde woman.  
  
"I'm Brian." Said the Marine.  
  
"I'm David.", said the man driving the armored car.  
  
"By the way, Mr. President, your speech this morning was really, really gay. GOOD MORNING, AMERICA, HOW'S BREAKFAST? Whoa, that's not very christmasy." He swerved to avoid an overturned car.  
  
Isaac chuckled. "Yeah, I was going to kick my speechwriter in the ass, but the undead apocalypse kind of put a damper on that."  
  
Jenny groaned and then slapped her hand against her forehead. "You know, the reason I voted for you was your undying optimism. Can you please try to keep a sense of we're gonna get out of this alive and chill out in the President's safehouse six hundred feet below the ground with a geothermal power supply, food, and a heated pool for the next five years?"  
  
"Not until I talk to my wife we're not."  
  
David shrieked and then yelled. "WE GOT A PROBLEM!"  
  
Brian opened the back door of the truck and peered outside, and then darted back inside, grabbed his Mossberg 590 and with a spring in his step, jumped out and started blasting away at the undead. Isaac, Jenny, and Chris followed suit.  
  
Isaac may have been 53 years old, but he was still a Marine at heart and he knew how to handle an assault rifle. Isaac fell to one knee and put a three round burst into two zombies, while Brian covered Jenny and Chris's six with blasts from his shotgun. David fired from the top of the armored truck with his Para-Ordnance P14 .45 handgun. "YEAH! YOU LIKE THAT, DON'T YOU YA SONS OF BITCHES", cried Brian as he continually put shot after shot into the undead hordes, who fell silent and still-again. But his moment of victory was cut short as a seemingly dead corpse in the alley he was in got up. Brian saw this as your run of the mill zombie, pop it in the head and it's down. But this time, when Brian pulled the trigger, a weak –CLICK- was heard where there should've been a BOOM. The zombie moved in for the kill. It collapsed on top of Brian, with his only defense the wood grips of his shotgun his only effective means of survival from the death jaws of the zombie. Isaac looked over at Brian and saw his predicament. "BRIAN, NO!" Jenny tugged at Isaac's shoulder. "Leave him! More are gonna come!" "Go choke on a dick, Marines don't leave Marines behind!" Isaac snapped at Jenny. Isaac, calm despite the situation, casually sprinted at the undead member and put the heel of his shoe into the zombie's skull, sending it flying down the alley.  
  
"THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU"  
  
A low moaning sound was heard, and that soon turned into a hungry groan that grew closer and closer by each second. No time to waste. Isaac and Brian sprinted like an Olympic Gold medal runner back to the truck, and like clockwork they sped off, leaving the undead to feast on exhaust. 


	3. Shopping

Shopping  
  
Isaac sat in the armored car, looking down at his M4. She was pretty dirty. He knew that they would have to stop eventually and get some Hobbes and some gun cleaning kits. _Ah, and the truck. We're gonna need gas. And ammo, too._ The only question was how the others would take the news. It was about two hours after the battle of downtown. He glanced at Brian. He was twitching periodically. _The shakes._ Common among black ops troopers after an op. Not like it was bad or anything, it's just that the people they were fighting weren't people, really. People don't take shotgun blast after shotgun blast and keep on coming. And like Casey said, there are probably millions upon millions in the United States alone right now. Hopefully the other nations in the world got the picture and sealed off their borders.  
  
_And what if they didn't? It'll be a slow end for mankind. Safehouses will collapse, and each day the undead will grow in number. This is all fucked up. Thank you, Cold War paranoia.  
_  
David looked over at Isaac. "Mr. President, we're runnin' low on gas. I suggest we get some, pronto. There's a Wally World down the street."  
  
"Yeah, there are a few things we need to get." Isaac replied.  
  
Jenny sat up suddenly, and started screaming at the top of her lungs. "NO! I'M NOT GOING OUT THERE! I WANT TO LIVE, DAMN IT!"  
  
Chris joined the yelling match. "Bitch, we ain't gonna live if we don't get gas for this fuckin' car. And we definitely not 'gon live if we don't clean our guns."  
  
Tears streamed down Jenny's face. "Fuck you, you fucking n-"  
  
"QUIET!" Isaac shouted with such power that the car seemed to shake. "If there's one thing that I can't stand, it's racism. Jenny, apologize to Chris. David, stop the car. It doesn't matter if you're blue, green, yellow, or purple. If you can fight alongside with me against the creatures, then you're fine with me. You, me, and everyone else that's still alive knows that we need gas, ammo, and cleaner if we're going to stay alive. And Jenny, if you're still going to be a pessimist then you're welcome to go outside and push." Isaac smirked sarcastically at Jenny, who absentmindedly stroked her hair.  
  
"Now, let's go shopping. Brian, you coming?"  
  
Brian looked up. His eyes darted back and forth, and his hands shook like a leaf. "May-maybe later..." Isaac made a mental note to get Brian some cigarettes or Valium before they headed to the safehouse.  
  
Isaac, Jenny, and Chris piled out of the armored car. Isaac sliced the pie, SWAT jargon for slowly clearing the blind spots, weapons hot, one intense degree at a time. Chris opened the door of the Wal-Mart, his Beretta at the ready. Jenny didn't really know anything about firearms, so she stuck by Chris. No better time to learn then the present. Muzak music still piped down from the speakers on the ceiling. Isaac figured that the power grid was still active in D.C. Isaac pointed to an aisle which bore the name Automotive Supplies. Chris nodded and darted down the aisle, seemingly gliding with each step. Isaac walked hesitantly to the back of the store. People think that men who work in the legislative branch are rich. Hell no. Even when he was a congressman, he shopped at Wal-Mart. Glass crunched under his Armani dress shoes. An empty shopping basket lay on its side. He picked it up and noticed a box that bore the name Timberland Hiking Boots. He tossed that in the basket.  
  
A thick shroud of malevolence could be felt all over. Isaac felt it, and he was pretty sure that Chris and Jenny did too. This sort of false peace couldn't last forever. Any minute now, a legion of undead could break through the windows and devour them all. _Don't think like that. You are responsible for these people. Your job yesterday was to protect them, and even with government collapsed, it's still your job. Don't think like that._ The prize of the journey stood in front of him. Half a dozen boxes of .223, .45, 9mm, and 12 gauge stood in front of him, along with a line of firearm cleaning products. All those were coming with. Isaac noticed a line of canned food, also. He extended his arm and pushed them all into the basket. He pushed the cart over to the Automotive supply aisle, where he saw Chris lugging two jugs of gasoline. "Think this'll get us to Virginia?" "Make that four.", Isaac said blankly. Chris mumbled something and turned to Jenny, motioning for her to give him a hand.  
  
Isaac pushed the cart over to Chris, where they placed the jugs of gas into the cart. As they walked out to the armored car, Chris noticed that the cigarette display case was still unbroken. "Hold up." Chris stepped over to the cigarette case and paused for a moment, studying all the available brands and flavors. "Aren't you gonna need a key?", Isaac asked quizzically. "Hell no." With one fluid movement, Chris placed a single bullet into a latch on the side and then kicked the door. The door fell over, and with a shit-eating grin, scooped as many cigarettes as he could into his arms and dumped them into the cart. Isaac stared at the brazen disregard for the law that the man was showing, and with a hint of sarcasm, asked "Gonna need a light with that?" Chris flashed a Zippo and pointed at the three bottles of lighter fluid in the cart.  
  
And after twenty minutes of putting the contents of the shopping cart in the truck and refueling, the crew of survivors took to the road again.  
  
**(It would be much appreciated if you guys would start reviewing. Thanks.)**


	4. Thoughts

**(Forgive me for the recent surge in character development. I promise you that next chapter, you will see more action.)**  
  
Thoughts  
  
Jenny lay on the hard floor of the armored van. The thin synthetic wool of her sweater provided little warmth. She gazed at the emblazoned logo of the Calvin Klein corporation on the back._ I wonder if he's a zombie._ Jenny thought back to the beginning of the day, which technically began the night before. Being a nurse at the hospital, she worked night shifts. The first hint that something was amiss came when Jenny was selected to give a man who was seriously injured in a bar fight his dose of morphine. Upon pulling up the sleeve of his shirt, she noticed that the man had bite marks all over his shoulder. It was an evil looking thing, too. Lines of mustard yellow grouped in nickel-sized eruptions around the bite marks. Jenny simply pushed the anxiety and disgust to the back of her head and found the nearest vein to inject the sedative inside the man and go discuss plans for Friday with her buddy, Brenda.  
  
_Friday never came._  
  
Chris sat staring out the window. Thick plumes of ash fluttered from the bluish-black sky. _Probably ten fires burning downtown up right now. Too bad the firefighters are out to lunch for the next ten years._ Chris was no stranger to conflict. Born to an alcoholic father and a crack addicted mother, he witnessed violence on a daily basis. It got to the point where Chris thought every family was like that. At the age of thirteen he joined the Joint Chiefz, a street gang which prided itself as the most vicious street gang this side of the Mississippi. By the time his stint with the gang was over at the age of sixteen, Chris had eight people "under his belt".  
  
_But that's over now. I'm not proud of what I've done. All I can do now is survive this._  
  
David sat in the driver's seat humming "Patience" by Guns N Roses as he smoked a Marlboro 100. He glanced down at the illuminated time readout next to the dashboard. It read 5:30 AM. _At 5:30 AM yesterday, I was drunk as a skunk and banging some Armenian girl I had just met hours before.._ David tossed the cigarette into the open Pepsi can by his side. The cigarette extinguished with a sound like a snake hissing. David snapped back to reality as he noticed what he had just done. _Last damn can of soda I'll ever drink and I had to put a stogie in it. Fuck!_  
  
Brian cradled his head in his hands, trying to forget the day's events. _I'm a moron. I don't know how to fight and protect my friends. I'm a greenhorn. How can you say that about yourself? It's not like you knew what you were fighting. They don't have a zombie survival training course in basic, Brian. At least you're alive. The little pep talk that Brian gave himself worked wonders._ Under cover of ten fingers, he smiled to himself. _Just survive, man. That's all that matters._  
  
Isaac looked down at his cell phone, continually pressing the redial button. Though he had tried calling Carolyn about 10,000 times today, he still persisted. _High maintenance services were probably the first to go._ _Oh well, hope springs eternal._  
  
Sergeant Nick Jameson of the United States Delta Force gazed down through the AN/PVS4 scope on his M4A1 assault rifle._ The cold night air fit the situation. It's gonna be cold for a loooong time. Wonder if the undead are cold to the touch?_ Earlier that day, by order of the late Secretary of Defense, for the first time in American history, the special forces were dispatched for domestic duty. Within the first half hour, half of the unit had been decimated, and within the first five minutes, the unit commander, second in command, and third in command were dead, and Nick, highly trained and member of the best special forces team in the world, found himself in charge. His first order? Retreat. Where? To that office building! Destroy the stairs. Camp out on the rooftop.  
  
Nick suddenly became aware of the sound of an internal combustion engine. He peered down the scope of the AN/PVS4 and switched on the night vision. _An armored car? We could use that..._A grin spread across his lips.  
  
"Team, wake your asses up, let's rock and roll!"  
  
(OOOOOH! Cliffhanger! Looks like the zombies aren't the only enemy here!) 


	5. Remnants

Remnants  
  
Nick Jameson and the rest of his Delta Force team prowled along the rooftops. Catlike, Nick dropped to one knee and put his right hand up, curling it into a fist. His team halted.  
  
Nick placed a hand over his ear and motioned towards his teammates, and inaudibly mouthed the words; "_Cover me, I'll recon the area_."  
  
"Oh shit, before I go, did we eliminate the undead in this area?"  
  
A thumbs up by a man holding a sniper rifle signified the answer.  
  
Nick nodded and moved swiftly close to the ledge of the rooftop. Nick briefly paused to take in the breadth of the destruction at hand. Fires licked at monuments in the National Mall. Corpses littered the streets, and Nick swore that he could see some of his former teammates in the distance walking the streets, caught in a permanent limbo between life and death. _If I could spare the bullets, I would execute the lot of you bastards right now._ Nick switched back to reality and like an Olympic gymnast; he leaped over the roof and landed on the fire escape. Nick momentarily glanced upwards. _Morning._ At this time, in a normal world, Nick would be doing basic exercises to keep his fit, strong figure. _Don't let the undead apocalypse keep you from achieving your goal, Nick. You're going to take that van, head down to the riverfront, and live for another 10 years.  
_  
Nick moved down the stairs with rapid footsteps, his rifle bobbing up and down with each descending movement. As soon as he reached the bottom, he scanned the perimeter. With his right hand, he motioned upwards and at the same time mouthed "_Clear._" Half of the team moved down the stairs with ease that Nick had not been privileged. The rest stayed clear, waiting for the van to pass by them.  
  
Nick smirked and brushed aside a strand of his sandy blonde hair.  
  
_The early bird gets the worm._  
  
David was tired. A yawn escaped his lips. How long had he been driving for? Five, six, twelve hours? Eighteen? _And for what purpose? To live underground with five other people for the next five years? And what about after that? Will society rebuild itself to what we had yesterday?_ David glanced at a 9mm bullet that lay nestled in a paper cup by his side._ Is life worth living?_ David's thoughts were interrupted by Chris as he stepped over to David's side and lay a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I gotta piss."  
  
With a sigh, David turned his head and spoke. "Does anyone else need to go to the bathroom?"  
  
A show of hands.  
  
Isaac grinned like a Chesire cat. "Ah, democracy at work."  
  
"Sir, we have the vehicle in our sights! Permission to engage?"  
  
"Hold fire. Team, let's move!"  
  
Nick and the rest of his team half-ran and half crouched through the alleyways, dodging several undead at the same time. Nick dropped to a prone position, peering through the scope on his rifle. He mouthed the descriptions of the subjects that he saw. "_One African American male, bald. One white female, blonde hair, One white male, black hair. Huh. A jarhead survived all this? One Hispanic male, long brown hair. Prepare to engage._" "Roger that, sir."  
  
Isaac hopped out of the van through the driver's side door and joined Chris, David, and Brian next to the wall. "Where's all the deadheads?", Brian asked. "Maybe their terrified of my schlong.", Chris joked.  
  
"The only thing they'd be terrified of is your fat head", David said with a grunt, accompanied by the splashing of piss.  
  
Chris reached out to playfully bitchslap David.  
  
"_Sniper 2, Shoot the coon. Wound shots until further orders._"  
  
**CRACK**. Chris fell to the ground, bleeding profusely from his shoulder. Isaac spun around, and without thinking ran over to Chris. Marine Corps mantra ran through his head like a stampede. _If a fellow soldier falls, it is your duty to carry him to safety..._ He took Chris by the arms, ignoring the guttural screams of anguish from his fallen comrade. He lay Chris next to the van and retrieved his Beretta from his side. Jenny sprung up from behind a concrete block, ready to sprint over to the fallen form of the man she secretly loved. Brian turned to Jenny from behind the cover of the van and sternly yelled for her not to move. A stream of thoughts ran through Brian's head. _I'm not going to puss out this time...I have to act. There's someone out there that's trying to kill my friends...I have to act!_"  
  
A voice shattered the melancholic atmosphere.  
  
"To the occupants of the armored vehicle, please lay down your arms and place your hands where we can see them. You will not be harmed." David shot Isaac a worried glance while keeping a death grip on his P-14. "What are we gonna do?" Almost forgetting that his comrade-in-arms was wounded, Isaac spoke gravely; "Let's find out who they are first." David poked his head around the side of the van. "Who are you?!"  
  
A stream of .223 bullets directly over his head answered his question, as ran back to his position.  
  
"**WE ARE THE DELTA FORCE SPECIAL OPERATIONS UNIT. LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED.**"  
  
Jenny's shrill voice only accentuated Isaac's worries. "We can't just let him bleed out! Put pressure on the wound for God's sakes!"  
  
Jenny was no doctor, but she was the only thing still alive that was close to it. Isaac motioned for Brian to put pressure on Chris's wound.  
  
Isaac gazed downward, considering his options.  
  
_We can't take on the most elite fighting force on the planet. I'm a politician, not a warrior._  
  
_We can't run. They'll hunt us down and kill us in our sleep._  
  
_But...would they shoot their own President?_  
  
Isaac sighed and walked around the van to face the building where the gunfire was coming from.  
  
"Mr. President, what the hell are you doing?!", came David's voice. Isaac ignored it, choosing simply to stand in the open, waiting for the Delta's response. Isaac noticed that there were several shambling undead gathering, probably drawn to the sound of the gunfire.  
  
Nick pinched his arm to make sure he wasn't dreaming.  
  
_The President? Of all the people..._  
  
_"All units, hold fire. Engage hostile creatures at will."  
_  
Nick stood up, walking towards the President.  
  
The first words out of Isaac's mouth were cold and unsympathetic. "You shot one of my men." "I didn't, sir, it was a man under my comm.-"

"I don't give a shit.

Do you have a medic on hand."

"Half my squad is dead, we've run low on supplies. Only enough for the next three days."

"Why did you shoot at us?"

"Well, there have been reports of groups of bandits killing and robbing civilian safehouses, we figured that you guys were one of them."

The intensity of the conversation was interrupted by sporadic bursts of gunfire from the Deltas fending off the undead.

Isaac again focused on Nick.

"Tell me the truth, soldier."

"I just told you.."

"THE TRUTH, SOLDIER."

"We wanted to steal your armored car and seek out a safe place."

"Understandable. You are relieved of command as of this moment."

"Sir!"

With lightning speed, Isaac placed the sights of his Beretta in between Nick's eyes. "Don't make me say it again." "Get your medic over there and get him to do his best to save my soldier's life." "Yes, sir."  
  
Later that day, Isaac and the rest of the group, along with the Deltas, took refuge in the office building.  
  
(So how was that? Sorry I rushed a bit at the end. The technology may not be realistic, but hey, let a man dream! :/))


	6. Hope

Hope

Golden Years Consolidated Life Insurance- Yesterday it was a dream come true for owner Walter Murphy. A short, sixty year old man with a rapidly receding hairline but without a care in the world, his business was blooming like a rose in springtime, his kids had a future to look forward to, the Mrs. seemed to love him more, and finally, FINALLY, he had a building with _his _company's name on it.He often came in early on purpose, just to walk into his office and gaze at his door. With _his_ name printed in a neat Arial font. **Dr. Walter Murphy, CEO. **Just looking at it made him burst into an uncontrollable giggle. Everything he worked for was now HIS. He didn't have to do anything. He hired a dozen employees to do the work ALL for HIM.

However, arriving at the office at 9 AM yesterday to an unusual silence that dominated the atmosphere, but with a cup of mocha latte in his hand, he shrugged it off as a mass case of the Mondays, he strolled down to the cubicles, was greeted not by the usual "Hello, sir.", "Good morning sir." or the "Sir, may I speak with you privately in your office so that I may suck your dick as per our agreement yesterday in exchange for a raise?" he glanced down to each cubicle; jotting down a mental image in his mind of each unproductive employee, _Asleep, asleep, asleep, empty, empty. Not going to punish now. Want sweet twentysomething tang._ Spotting his target, he stopped by the fax machine to find the aforementioned cocksucker gazing down at the partially eviscerated body of Brenda Nichols with childlike curiosity, and a strip of intestines lined with shards of a pleather skirt hanging down from her jaws. The cup of mocha latte fell like rain from his hand, shattering with a concussive blow that unfortunately "woke" the occupants of the cubicles.

"Nikki...are you alright?" With each word, his heart skipped a beat. Nikki turned around slowly, sensing food; her soulless black eyes meeting the form of a stocky, good 250 pounds of meat. A moan escaped her lips, and she attempted to grab the food in an attempt to pull him towards her so that she may feast upon him without a struggle. But already food had attracted the attention of her fellow brethren, as the man dodged and weaved his way away from them.

"Shit! Shit!"

The words flew like a hurricane. He ducked into his office, closing the door behind him and sliding a heavy filing cabinet against it as he did. _What the fuck is going on? This isn't the life I was promised...I'M SUPPOSED TO BE ON EASY STREET, NOT GET YOUR FLESH EATEN BY FUCKING ZOMBIES._ He stroked his gray hair, his hand turning damp from the perspiration that ran down his face, stinging his eyes in the process. His attention turned to the phone that lay on his desk. _Gotta call the wife, ask her if she knows what's going on. _As he made his way to the window, Walter noticed a helicopter flying in the distance, the words **President of the United States **emblazoned on it. Peering down, Walter immediately noticed several people moving as his employees did, dragging a foot behind them and arms outstretched, lips peeled back into a malevolent grin.

A loud **BANG **followed by the smashing of glass interrupted Walter's moment of horror. Pale, bloodied hands protruded from the opposite end of his door, outstretched in search of warm human flesh. Walter picked up a stapler and chucked it at the pair of hands."GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?!" The stapler merely bounced off the hands, which still curled it's fingers and reached for Walter. On the verge of tears, Walter sat down and picked up the phone, dialing his wife's cell phone number.

"_Hello?"_

"_Martha, it's me."_

"_Walt? I can't remember the last time you called me from work. What are those terrible noises in the background?"_

"_Just turn on the news, honey."_

"_Oh god, Walt! It's Armageddon!"_

"_Honey, I just want you to know.i've behaved badly in the past, but...I love you."_

A crash.

"_Walt...there's something moving in the hall. I'm scared!"_

"_Close the door. Put something heavy against it."_

"_I'm too weak for that, Walt. you know that. Oh god, what is it?!_

A moaning sound, and the sound of uneven footsteps.

"_Walt...I LOVE YOU! I'LL SEE YOU AG-"_

A scream, and then a low squirting sound.

He hung up the phone.

"I'll be seeing you real soon, honey."

* * *

"How's he doing?" Isaac asked Jenny.

"Holding up pretty well. We got the bullet out, but he's not 100 percent, I think he just needs some rest."

"Will he have use of his arm?"

"What am I, psychic?"

"No, I'm just wondering if one of the last humans alive in the tri-state area is going to be able to fire a gun without searing pain.", Isaac said in a sing-song tone of voice.

"Mr. President, with all due respect, I'm only an RN, not an orthopedist. I'm doing the best I can to help him, and you nagging me isn't helping. You wanna help? Go to the hospital, go get some Vicodin, antibiotics, syringes, and a medical dictionary. But in the meantime, leave me the fuck alone."

With a huff and a swing of her straw-colored hair, she ducked into the makeshift operating room, slamming the door shut behind her. Isaac stared at the door for a second and hung his head down. _Maybe I am being too hard on them. I'm tired. They're tired._

With a sigh, Isaac took a stroll down "Camp Frosty", also known as Forward Base #342. The Deputy Secretary Defense had recently been located- He was hiding out on an island off the coast of South Carolina, devising a game plan to take back the Continental United States. The popular school of thought the day after the Apocalypse was the "Scythe Manuever", which goes a little like this:

**Use aerial reconnaissance to find large groups of undead.**

**If the situation permits it, use a MOAB package to clear out the area of hostile creatures.**

**(optional) Small towns or cities along the Mississippi may be shelled by the U.S. Navy on the captain's discretion.**

**Send in U.S. Marines to clear the target city of the "zombies."**

Brian was sitting on a couch in the employee lounge, watching TV. The local Fox affiliate was running a marathon of The Simpsons. _Guess they wanted to keep morale up. But what about the power grid? It's a miracle it's still running. I wonder what kind of rotting filth is milling around in the TV station right now. _Brian shuddered and pushed the thought away, instead focusing on America's favorite family's latest adventure.

Isaac sat down at a cubicle. He glanced down at the clutter that covered it. Disgusted, he pushed it away. The receiver of a phone fell off the desk, hanging by the extension cord. Almost instinctively he reached out to put it back on when he heard those words-

_We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is out of service. Please check your number and try again._

His eyes shot wide open and he slammed the phone down and picked it up again. A dial tone! On the verge of bursting in hysterics with glee, he put in Carolyn's number and eagerly awaited the sound of his wife's voice.

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Hello, you've reached the voice-mail box of Carolyn Isaac. I'm not here right now, but leave a message and the date and time that you called and I'll get back to you as soon as I can._

"**_SHIT!"_** Isaac felt something snap inside him. Rage clouded his vision and the weight of the world just crashed down on his shoulders.

David was in the bathroom shaving when he heard the CRASH. He dropped the razor and unholstered the P14 at his side. Rushing down the hall to the cubicles, he pushed aside some of the Deltas to take a look at the most powerful man in the free world kicking a computer screen and yelling incomprehensible obscenities. _We're fucked now. The Prez has gone psycho, and we don't have a chain o' command. Hey, maybe I can be President! How you like me now, NYPD? A barrio boy's got your federal funding by the balls now! _

"Mr. President, calm down." David said with a half-smile, his hand just centimeters away from the grips of P-14.

"Sir, may I suggest a mild sedative?" asked the Delta Force medic.

"Maybe. Stand by for orders, private." replied Nick.

Isaac came back to Earth. His neat brown slacks were matted with dust and his hands were coated with bits of carpet fiber, and he had in his hand strands of cord. Sweat ran down his eye, producing an irritating sting. Isaac slowly sat up and pulled himself into a chair, just in time to see Jenny and Brian rush out of their respective rooms, eager to catch a glimpse of the President of the United States throw a temper tantrum. Everybody just stood there, waiting for him to say something. But what could he say? Saying sorry isn't going to bring the sense of confidence and leadership that his soldiers had in him. But what else could he do? _Guess I'll just have to bite the bullet._

"I'm sorry. My wife...she didn't pick up her cell phone."

He cringed a little bit, anticipating the tidal wave of disapproving murmurs and suggestion of mutiny, but instead a sympathetic voice rose out of the crowd.

"Mr. President, just get some sleep. You need it. We know how much you miss your wife. Just get some sleep."

"You can take the couch." said Brian with a grin.

Isaac nodded and lifted himself out of the chair, walking to the employee lounge. As soon as he saw the couch, he just collapsed onto it, closing his eyes and feeling his every muscle relax. Sleep came quickly.


End file.
